


Hobbitdashery

by apple_pi



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-30
Updated: 2005-12-30
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:10:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7394377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_pi/pseuds/apple_pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Book ’em, detective,” Billy says dryly, and then—fucking <i>bastard!</i>—he casually reaches up to adjust his tie at his neck. His simple silvery blue tie, the light shifting and playing on it and Dom lunges at Billy.</p><p>Billy sidesteps, grinning, and slips out the front door. “C’mon, Dom,” his voice floats back, “won’t do to keep everyone waiting.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hobbitdashery

“Hey, Bill—I mean, uh—” Dom’s breezy greeting stutters to an ungraceful halt just when his feet do, because he banged through the door with a grin and a twirl, showing off his new hat, and then he stopped and actually looked at Billy, and Billy is dressed up: sharp black suit, pale blue shirt... tie. 

The juxtaposition of their outfits is not why Dom stopped, though. It’s not as if Dominic Monaghan is concerned with being underdressed; whatever Dom is wearing, he has declared before and will again, is the evening’s standard, so if he wants to wear _his_ suit without a tie and a little baggy and with a black fedora straight out of a 1940s potboiler film while other people are wearing Armani suits or tuxes or evening gowns, that’s fine. Fine and dandy.

But the tie Billy is wearing, that _particular_ tie, is, is, is making Dom’s clothing suddenly too tight in strategic areas, it’s making his hips want to samba in a distinctly horizontal way, and his armpits sweat, and his wrists, oh—Dom’s wrists are tingling, burning under the cuffs of his shirt with the same visceral memory that’s making his cock twitch in his trousers.

“Book ’em, detective,” Billy says dryly, and then—fucking _bastard!_ —he casually reaches up to adjust his tie at his neck. His simple silvery blue tie, the light shifting and playing on it and Dom lunges at Billy.

Billy sidesteps, grinning, and slips out the front door. “C’mon, Dom,” his voice floats back, “won’t do to keep everyone waiting.”

*

In the limo Dom keeps edging closer to Billy, but Billy keeps his distance, the slick leather seats making it all too easy for him to slide out of Dom’s reach, and when the car stops for Astin and Elijah, Billy roars out a greeting and pulls a screeching Elijah onto his lap while Sean settles more decorously beside Dom.

“Are you drunk already?” Sean asks, meaning _you and Billy_ of course, and Dom scowls at Billy, who’s whispering something into Elijah’s ear while Elijah gasps and giggles hysterically.

“No, not yet,” he says, looking for the little refrigerator. He grabs three wee airplane-sized bottles of liquor from it, and when he glances up again, settling back into his seat (beside a sighing Sean), he sees Billy is flapping the end of his tie against the side of Elijah’s face. 

And looking at Dom, and smiling.

By the time they arrive Dom’s well on the way to trousered, and it’s easy enough to slink along the red carpet behind Billy while Elijah bounces away ahead; it’s even easy to mug a little with Bill, groom him for the cameras and play up the hat, which Dom had almost forgotten but with which, in fact, he is in love. So Billy has a tie— _that tie_ his traitorous brain whispers, or maybe that’s his cock, cheeky little fucker—big deal. Dom has a fedora, and he looks fanfuckingtastic.

And Billy smiles his small, contained smile or the wider one (that shows his teeth, and Dom’s nipples perk right up at that thought, joining his cock and his wrists in clamouring for attention), and he stands pressed against Dom for the photographers.

Good thing, too, Dom thinks, since hopefully the flap of Billy’s jacket will hide the bulge in Dom’s trousers. He growls as much in Billy’s ears, and Billy laughs—sweet, high, wicked. “Patience is a virtue,” he murmurs. “Maybe there’ll be a nice toilet we can shag in later.”

“Fucker,” Dom hisses, smiling. 

“Language, Dominic.” Billy moves away. “Wouldn’t want to have to gag you with my tie or something.”

*

They don’t win. It’s disappointing, of course, but by the time their award is announced, the last one for the evening, Dom’s had a hard-on for close to four hours, which is maybe a new record for him. He’s pretty sure it must have a subsided a few times—at least once he’s positive of, because he had to have a wee halfway through the proceedings, the four pint-sized bottles having their revenge on his bladder—but every time he looked at Billy, he hardened again, trapped somewhere between frustration and need. Anyway, his constant erection has made it difficult to feel anything but relief when the fucking show is _over_ and they can get out.

The problem with Billy, Dom muses as they file backstage for a few more pictures, is that when he gets toppy, he gets really toppy, and it has the flipside effect of making Dom as desperate as a hooker on X—he just wants to be on his back, feet in the air and Billy pounding away into him, _so fucking bad_. But it’s no good, Dom demanding anything from toppy Billy; that can only end badly. He just has to wait, and snarl occasional words of lust and threat into Billy’s (delicious, small, delicate) ear. Dom’s sure he’ll get what he wants eventually, because Billy looks quite pink around the edges, and that’s no banana in his pocket, either, but _Christ_. Dom hopes it’ll be soon.

“Limo or cab?” Billy murmurs into Dom’s ear.

“Toilet?” Dom says hopefully, but Billy smiles again and shakes his head. “Nah,” he says low. “I’ve been thinking about that whole gagging-you idea.”

Dom twitches and glares, and tries not to smile. “Ruin your tie that way,” he says.

“Who says I’ll use my tie?” Billy waves goodbye to the others and Dom belatedly follows suit as they step onto the kerb and wait for a taxi. “I have other plans for that.”

*

Dom’s cuffs link together easily enough, and then Billy threads the tie between them. He runs his hand over Dom’s back gently, pushing him down, and Dom obediently leans over the table. “Hurry up,” he says; to his horror it comes out as plea, not demand, and he jerks his head up, trying not to see Billy’s smile.

Billy walks around the table and draws the two end of the tie toward himself. “Let’s see if this reaches,” he murmurs; inexorable pulling brings Dom lower and lower, until his arms are outstretched across the table, bare chest and cheek pressed flat to cool, silky wood. The curved edge digs into his belly and Dom shifts uncomfortably, easing back as Billy crouches out of sight, securing the tie around one table leg. “Just made it,” Billy says from under the table; “test it a bit.”

Dom tugs and hears Billy’s satisfied exhale. “C’mon, Bills, you’re not even undressed,” Dom complains. There’s no friction for his cock, here; he twists a bit, feeling it bob helplessly between his thighs.

Suddenly there _is_ friction, of the warm wet slippery kind, and Dom shrieks.

“Who says I’m getting undressed?” Billy asks, sliding back off Dom’s cock; Dom can’t see a thing as curious fingers circle his cock and stroke him, then slide back to pull at the loose skin of his scrotum; Dom closes his eyes against the empty kitchen and the feel of Billy’s hands. “I could just stay under here and suck you off.”

“No!—” Dom feels sweat making his body slide against the wood, prickling up in the crease behind his knees. “No, Bill, I’ve been waiting all night—” He’s whining, and tears of frustrated rage burn his nose as Billy’s mouth slides down over his cock again. “No, Bill please I need you in me, come _on_ , please!”

Billy’s lips tighten and he hums thoughtfully; Dom thrusts forward as much as he can with the table in the way, and Billy chokes slightly and draws back. “Fucker,” Billy growls, but he’s laughing a little, too, and he crawls out from under the table. Billy’s face, when Dom can see it again, is flushed and cheerful. He’s lying over the table, mimicking Dom’s position and still fully dressed; his lips are red and wet. “Why hello, Dominic,” he says. “Shall I fuck you now?”

“Yes, please, please,” Dom gasps, eyes flying open.

“It does sound nice,” Billy confesses. He scoots closer and kisses Dom’s nose. “Alright, then.”

Dom lies still, listening to the chink and rustle of Billy undressing; Billy, considerate wanker that he is, keeps one hand on Dom most of the time: smoothing over his back, cupping a cheek, mussing his hair. It helps keep Dom grounded, and he closes his eyes again and breathes in and out as regularly as he can, waiting, waiting, until—

“This shouldn’t be too cold, it’s been in my pocket,” Billy says quietly, and Dom hears the _snick_ of the bottle-cap and bites his lip. The fact that Billy had the fucking bottle in his pocket _all night_ would be cause for rage if Dom’s brain was functioning at all, anymore, but now the thought flares and flees, lost in Billy’s dry hand on his back, his slicked fingers lower. The lube is warm enough, Billy’s fingers warmer, sliding up and down messily, circling and then pressing inward as Dom whimpers and tries to set his legs further apart. “You’re fine,” Billy whispers, petting him with his free hand again, soothing. “So hot, gonna make you hotter.” Two fingers are turning slowly inside his body, and Dom shivers restlessly, twisting his wrists, fingertips grazing the slick material of the tie. 

“Please,” Dom manages, and Billy’s rubbing the blunt head of his cock against Dom’s arse, the tender skin there singing with arousal, open, wanting.

“Fuck, Dom,” Billy breathes, “yeah...” He presses inward agonizingly slowly but it can’t last. Dom tries to jerk back and sheathe Billy deeply, instantly. He craves that burn, the wet thick slide of Billy’s cock inside his body. But the tie snaps tight when he tries, the leather of his cuffs abrading bright against the tender skin of his wrists. “Harder,” Dom grates, but Billy keeps it slow for a while, smooth, steady strokes into and away from Dom, his breathing loud, hands firm on Dom’s waist, lowering to curve around his hips, fingers sliding inward to scrape through Dom’s pubic hair, though he never touches Dom’s cock.

“Been looking at you all night,” Billy growls, shoving in a little harder ( _finally_ , Dom wants to scream); on the next thrust he pulls Dom’s hips back to meet his cock and sparks of sharp pleasure fizz and pop their way up Dom’s spine to explode behind his closed eyes. “Thought about fucking you right here, before we ever left, strip you down to that hat, Dom—” _shove_ , and Dom whines at the sensation, his prostate is being hit, he knows, but it feels like the brightest daggers of pleasure, there’s nothing scientific about it— “thought about fucking you in the limo, don’t think I wouldn’t do it in front of Sean and Elijah and the cabbie and fucking _Entertainment Tonight_ —” _shove_ — “wanted to drag you into that toilet—” _shove_ — “fuck you right—” _shove_ — “there, so good—” _shove_ — “unh—unh—unh—” Billy’s moving faster, Dom can feel his knees bend and jostle at the backs of his own legs, Billy’s pushing _in_ and _up_ and Dom’s being wound tighter and tighter. 

“Touch me please,” he gasps out, “fucking—my fucking—Bill—”

Billy complies, his voice a high sweet snarl against Dom’s shoulder blade, hand sliding around Dom’s hipbone to grip almost cruelly tight: “You’re gonna fucking come, Dom, come with my cock in your arse, come with me buried inside your body, come so hard—” he’s stroking fast and furiously, Dom’s cheeks and chest smear messily up and down on the slippery wood, his hips are banging into the edge of the table and he’ll have bruises there tomorrow. “Tell me, tell me, tell me,” Billy’s chanting softly, viciously, pounding into Dom.

“Bill, Bill, ah—ah—ah—oh god—” His eyes squeeze shut, hips jerk and shudder; the cuffs burn the tender skin of his wrists but he can barely feel it because he’s shooting, spurting, coming all over the floor and then Billy’s hand and then his own thighs as Billy wrings the last pulses of wet, sticky pleasure from him. He faintly hears his own voice, the long low keen of his orgasm, spiral into nothing.

Billy doesn’t give him time to recover. Billy (bless him, kiss him, curse him, kill him) immediately releases Dom’s prick and wraps his hands around Dom’s hipbones again. But this time Billy means business, he’s going to—

“Use you, Dom, fuck you, use you, come in you,” he’s panting, harsh and quiet. He _pulls_ and Dom’s hips are lifted, his feet scrabble for purchase as he’s forced to come awkwardly onto his tiptoes. It feels out of control and panicky and Dom grips the tie and thrashes weakly but Billy’s cock is slamming into Dom’s prostate again suddenly, knifelike pleasure that makes Dom thrash and scream for entirely different reasons—another little dry peak that almost hurts, and Dom goes completely lax. Billy’s holding his hips away from the table, the lower half of Dom’s body practically airborne, wanton. And Billy pounds his arse, balls slapping on every furious inward stroke and then the rhythm is gone. Billy’s breath hitches and he groans, voice as low as it ever gets, and thrusts deep three or four more times, fingertips digging into Dom’s bones, palms slick and hot as he slowly lowers him and slumps forward onto Dom’s back.

Dom lets his feet find purchase on the lino and closes his eyes, enjoying the feel of Billy’s sweaty, scritchy chest against his back, the heave and labour of Billy’s lungs as his weight flattens Dom slowly into the table.

“You forgot to gag me,” Dom says after a while, opening his eyes.

Billy laughs—a stuttering groan—and straightens slowly, his cock slipping from Dom’s body. “Says who?” he replies. “Think I’ll save that. Gag you,” he’s smiling and he leans over to kiss Dom’s ear before dropping to the floor and crawling under the table, “gag you and then make you watch while I... hmmm.”

Dom feels the tie loosen and he painfully pulls back, letting his vertebrae pop as he rolls himself slowly upright. “Watch while you what?” He tosses the tie onto the table and cautiously begins unbuckling the cuffs.

“Y’alright?” Billy stands beside him, looking down, fingers replacing Dom’s and peeling the leather away from tender, abraded skin. “Ach, does it hurt?” He lifts Dom’s wrists and kisses each one, not looking at Dom; drops his wrists and runs gentle fingers over the red marks on Dom’s hips, across the crease on his belly where the edge of the table pressed into the skin. “It was good,” Billy says, and it’s not a question.

“It was good,” Dom says. He pulls Billy close and makes him meet his gaze. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.” Their mouths meet, tired and lazy, wet and open, as their eyes fall shut.

“Mmm. Alright.” Billy pulls away. “Need a shower?”

“No.” Dom leans forward and kisses Billy’s shoulder; turns him and slaps his arse lightly. “I like how I feel, after we have sex. Wet... I can feel you, in me. I like it.”

Billy leads the way down the hall into darkness. “Dirty bugger.”

Dom trots behind him. “I don’t believe you have much room to talk, William Boyd. And hey.” Billy pulls the duvet back and they both crawl into bed, curling close, shivering a little as the cool sheets warm. “You never said what you’re going to make me watch.”

“Hmm?” Billy tucks his head under Dom’s chin. “What’re you on about?” He yawns.

“You said you were going to gag me and make me watch you do something.”

“Oh.” Billy giggles quietly, sleepily. “I’m gonna gag you, and tie you up, and make you watch while I wank.”

“I like that,” Dom says. His hand slides down Billy’s back to cup one buttock.

“I’m gonna come in your hat,” Billy adds. “Like that hat...” His voice trails away.

Dom opens his mouth to protest, but Billy’s breathing has already steadied into the regular rhythm of sleep. So. Dom shuts his mouth and looks at the ceiling for a minute or two, plotting places to hide the fedora.

But not _too_ well...

Dom falls asleep, smiling.


End file.
